Three #2
“Not for the kind of riding we’ll be doing,” Gordon said. There was more shouting coming from the house. They were probably preparing to search the woods. “I’ll not risk your neck.” He put his hands on her waist to lift her up, but she’d have none of it and dug in her heels.
“What if he breaks his neck?” she asked, referring to Robbie. “You know it will be safer for each of us to have a horse.”
“I don’t have another horse,” Gordon replied. And he wasn’t about to give her another chance to escape. Constance was far more brazen than any other female of his acquaintance. “Now, climb up.”
Calls were going up from the school for horses. The woods would be searched shortly and the roads cut off. There wasn’t time to waste.
Miss Constance heard, too, and at last exercised good sense. With a soft sound of protest, she allowed him to lift her up to sit sidesaddle in front of Robbie, something she did with enough confidence to tell Gordon she was comfortable on a horse.
He took his own reins and climbed into the saddle. With a nudge of his leg, he set Tempest off through the woods. The others followed.
They reached the road and set off at a gallop. Gordon glanced over at Robbie. He had one arm around their captive. She leaned over the horse’s mane, riding with him.
At last, Gordon felt he could breathe easier.
They’d done it.
The moment he reached the clan’s camp in the mountains, he would send a messenger to Colster. Within two weeks, at the most three, he would have the sword.
And perhaps it wasn’t such a disaster that the soldiers were here this night or that Constance had been discovered missing. All this would confirm the ransom demand.
After several minutes of hard riding, Gordon turned Tempest off the road, cutting across the open moor, heading west. He rode at the head of his men, proud on this moonlit night to be their leader.
They’d all waited a long time for action.
Laird MacKenna had once amassed an army, he’d had the sword and a mandate from the Highlanders, but now, looking back, Gordon could see that the chieftain had lacked the conviction of their Cause.
He’d been more interested in the trappings of power than freedom.
In the end, the laird and his other officers had betrayed the clan. They’d taken the money that was raised to support a rebellion and run off to Italy. Gordon hoped their stomachs shriveled on sour wine.
The night air was crisp against Gordon’s skin. He’d keep them riding at this speed for a few more miles and then it would be safe to walk. Traveling across the countryside, avoiding the main roads, they would reach their camp by late afternoon.
Gordon counted himself lucky that Miss Constance was headstrong enough to want to run away. He had rope in his saddlebags. He would have tied her up. Her cooperation had saved them a great deal of time—
A shout behind him interrupted Gordon’s thoughts.
Alarmed, he reined Tempest sharply and turned in time to see Robbie’s horse go charging off in the night, traveling in the opposite direction.
“It’s Robbie,” Brian shouted.
“His horse has run away?” Gordon asked.
“No, he’s back here and hurt bad,” Brian answered.
And what of Constance Cameron? Gordon was afraid to ask the question, riding back to where Thomas stood beside Robbie stretched out on the ground. Gordon didn’t see a second figure.
“The lass pushed him off the horse,” Brian said, answering his unspoken question. “Shoved him hard when he wasn’t expecting it. Then she threw her leg over the saddle and rode away as if she was a man.”
Robbie moaned. It was a welcome sound and allowed Gordon to breathe again.
“See to him,” he ordered the others as he pulled a rope out of his saddlebag. “I’m going after her.”
“When you catch her, put her over your knee,” Thomas said.
“If you catch her,” Brian said. “The lass is riding like the wind. I’ve never seen Robbie’s horse move so fast.”
“Oh, I’ll catch her,” Gordon said.
Constance rode with her heart pounding in her chest and her spirits high on freedom. For the first time since…well, before her father died, she felt alive. She felt powerful.
She would be in Edinburgh before morning. She’d lost her money and her clothing but she didn’t care. She’d manage. She always had in the past. She’d be on the Novus because she was going home.
The horse was not as wild as the ponies she’d grown up on. She’d frightened it when she pushed his rider off, which was fine. A frightened horse was a fast one.
She was so involved in giving the animal his lead and her own unfettered happiness that she didn’t realize Mr. Lachlan had followed until he was upon her.
His hand reached for her bridle. He was a better horseman than herself. He leaned so far in the saddle, he could have fallen, and yet his legs held tight.
Her horse protested the yank of the reins. He tried to veer, wanting to take his head back. Mr. Lachlan jerked the rein and the horse kicked out, struggling to keep from stumbling.
Constance lost her balance.
She fell to the ground and barely missed being stepped on by inches.
The earth beneath her was spongy and damp. For a moment she feared she couldn’t move. She wiggled her toes, her fingers—and then found a rock to wrap her hand around.
She was not going with Mr. Lachlan.